Chapter One

“Broken, He Returns”

1.

IT SHOULD HAVE been good to be back home, but as the steam-powered omnibus chugged its way across Putney Bridge, Nathanial reflected on how unmoved he felt about his return. He had been away for almost two years, his work taking him further from Surrey than he would have expected. The initial trip to Arizona, to work with Doctor Cyrus Grant on redesigning the prototype aether propeller governor, seemed like quite some distance. After all, at that point, although having travelled well throughout the United Kingdom, he had never left the land of his birth. Of course, that fateful voyage to meet and work with Grant was destined to be the first very small step in a much larger journey. And now, having left Putney early 1888 fresh of mind and full of ideas about his future, he was returning home at the tail end of 1889 tired and defeated, with a mind to curl up under the table in his lab and just let the world carry on without him.

He glanced up at the polluted sky, and the dirty snow that was falling. He was away from London, and thus the taint was minor, but even then he could see it was spreading. When he’d left Putney there had been no sign of such airborne soot, but now, the rapid growth of industry in London was spreading outwards, casting the surrounding counties in dirt and grime.

As usual several boats floated on the Thames either side of the bridge, although the majority of them were west towards Mortlake, away from the tripods that dredged the Thames nearer the city in the opposite direction. Several boats moored alongside the embankment by The Star & Garter. Nathanial smiled briefly as a few memories of youthful peccadilloes in the company of Josiah Hawksworth fluttered into his mind. He wondered if Josiah still spent most of his time boating on the Thames. Much could change in two years. So, so much…

Nathanial lowered his head and buried himself deeper into his thick coat.

The omnibus turned onto Windsor Street, but Nathanial looked up at the High Street, which was unusually quiet. Halfway up the High Street was Fairfax House. Part of him felt like alighting now, visiting the house he grew up in—a certain comfort would come from such an event—but instead he remained in his seat while the omnibus continued up Lower Richmond Road. He pulled the cord that dinged the bell, notifying the driver that he wished to alight. As the omnibus came to a halt, the conductor mounted the steps and reached the top deck just as Nathanial removed himself, with some difficulty (it was incredible how even the simple things became a task of some effort when you lost the use of one arm), from his seat.

“Your luggage, sir, if I may,” the conductor said.

For a moment Nathanial just looked at the conductor, who was surely only a few years younger than he. He blinked and nodded. “Of course,” Nathanial said, and allowed the conductor to retrieve Nathanial’s luggage from the deck. Only the gentry and their ladies rode the upper deck of the omnibuses, the cost for such a privilege being more than the working class could afford, and, for all his sins, the now-infamous Professor Nathanial Stone, ex-government employee, was, at least outwardly, a gentleman. As such a person, the conductor was more than happy to assist the gentleman in the sling, with the expectation of a healthy tip, of course. Riding an omnibus was like spending a night in a swanky hotel, Nathanial mused, aside from the soot.

Once safely on the pavement, he fished into the pocket of his waistcoat, careful not to disturb the broken pocket watch, and handed the conductor a sovereign. “May she bring you more luck,” Nathanial said, and received a puzzled look in return. Nathanial smiled sadly beneath his cloth mask, and went to doff his hat, only to remember he did not possess one. Instead his cold hand found a mass of dirty and wet ginger hair, sodden by the slush that passed for snow in London Town.

“Thank you, sir,” the conductor said, and hopped back onto the omnibus which chugged away, billowing a trail of smoke in its wake.

Nathanial readjusted his sling, making sure the wrist of his right arm was at least a little comfortable, before picking up his Gladstone bag, thankful that it was only his right arm that had been so badly damaged in the…scuffle…at Chatham Convict Prison. The resident medical officer at the Dockyards had seen to his wrist yesterday; the damage had been done, Surgeon-Lieutenant Marter had claimed, and all they could hope for now was that it set in a way that would not be too prohibitive for Nathanial. If only the wrist had been seen to earlier, Marter carried on, then perhaps something more could have been done. If only! As it stood, Marter expected that forever more Nathanial’s right wrist would remain weak, ultimately giving into a form of arthritis. Not the best news for an inventor who used his hands so much in his work.

Nathanial looked down the Upper Richmond Road, gratified to be away from the pollution of the city, and removed his goggles and the carbolic-soaked cloth mask. Although the air in Putney was far from clean, it was not so dense than one needed the usual respirative protection.

He turned back to Putney Lower Common, and smiled sadly. So many years had been spent playing on the common when he was a child, before his genius made itself known and study became the order of the day. Simpler times, when all he needed to worry about was fishing for tiddlers in the streams. Times long gone.

He had received a telegram in the early hours of the morning, a response to the one he had sent last night from Governor’s House at Chatham, telling him to meet his mother on the common. It was not a place he wanted to visit, since that was also the location of All Saints’ Church, the parish of which his father was reverend. Alas, he could not countenance keeping his mother waiting, and so he crossed the road to Putney Lower Common.

He should never have sent that telegram! Rather he should have returned home without notifying his mother. She meant well, of course, she always did, but even on his best day Nathanial would never have sought such attention. And this was most certainly not his best day.

The common was fit to bursting, seemingly occupied by every denizen of Putney Parish, although of course Nathanial knew he was exaggerating. Even the common would have trouble holding in excess of thirteen thousand people, but enough people had decided to attend that such a claim was being tested. A bandstand had been hastily erected near All Saints’, where local musicians, led by All Saints’ organist, Mister Dancey himself, were playing. Mrs Biddick, known throughout Putney for her ability to carry a melody, was singing. The lyrics drifted across the air to where Nathanial was standing, casting his mind elsewhere, to a small untidy lab on the planet Mercury.

Oh, promise me that you will take my hand,

The most unworthy in this lonely land,

And let me sit beside you in your eyes,

Seeing the vision of our paradise,

Hearing God’s message while the organ rolls,

Its mighty music to our very souls,

No love less perfect than a life with thee;

Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me!

Nathanial sniffed, blaming the cold air for the tear that fell, which he promptly wiped away with the back of his hand before anyone noticed him.

Mrs Biddick stood before what looked to Nathanial like the mouthpiece of one of those telephonic machines, a cable running down the length of the pole. He prided himself on his ability to spot the smallest thing, and he followed the cable to a device that sat in the tree nearest the bandstand. It seemed to be fashioned on a telephone earpiece, only of a size big enough to place a man’s head inside, should one wish to do so. If he remembered correctly, the thing was called a loudspeaker, a device similar to the one patented by the German inventor Ernst Siemens some twelve years ago. He remembered reading about the failed attempts to make a similar device for use aboard naval craft, but to the best of his knowledge nothing had come of it. Even the crew of Sovereign, the most advanced aether flyer ever built, continued to use the tube to pipe commands throughout the ship. It was this loudspeaker which enabled the dulcet tones of Mrs Biddick to carry over Putney Lower Common. She had moved on from Oh, Promise Me and was now signing a new song, one of which Nathanial was unfamiliar, to which several people before the bandstand were dancing.

Bunting and banners had also been erected, connecting the trees of the common with messages of glad tidings. Of the return of The First Son of Putney! Nathanial could scarcely believe it, and would never have thought it so, had he not seen it with his own eyes, but the people of Putney Parish had put on a homecoming party for him!

This was not what Nathanial wanted. How was he to tell his parents, his siblings, that he had been dismissed from his post of responsibility and incarcerated for the last week in Chatham Convict Prison under suspicion of treason? When they saw his arm in a sling they would assume the best—a noble injury suffered in service to the Empire, instead of gained in a common brawl among inmates?

Regardless, his presence had been spotted. The thin, austere figure of Mister Payn, the verger of All Saints’, approached him, hand held out. “Professor Stone! A hearty welcome home, sir!” After a moment’s hesitation, Payn reached for Nathanial’s left hand and pumped it generously. “We have been following your adventures with the utmost interest. Every week your mother would share with us the particulars of your journeys. The plateaus of Venus, what! And a lizard-man wearing a deerstalker! What the deuce,” he concluded, with a wink that suggested they were sharing some secret.

Nathanial had been sending telegrams to Edwin ever since he had left Putney, but he was surprised to hear that his young brother had shared the contents of the missives with his mother, and she with the church! It was most unacceptable. There was information contained in those telegrams that was personal. He determined there and then that when he saw Edwin, and their mother, stern words would be said.

As Mister Payn continued to talk, Nathanial making but the briefest sounds in response, he cast his eyes around the common to see if he could espy either Edwin or his mother. Instead, however, his eyes came to light on a woman of the most amazing beauty on the arm of man he did not immediately recognise, although the man was certainly known to him. He was one Colonel Daniel Sanford of the Royal Horse Artillery, 3rd Brigade. Colonel Sanford was, of course, out of uniform, but two things gave him away. One, his posture; it was so defined and straight that he could only be a man used to military discipline. And two, the most important; the woman on his arm was his wife, Mrs Emily Sanford, the eldest of Nathanial’s siblings.

“If you will excuse me, Mister Payn,” Nathanial said, picking up his bag once more, “it wouldn’t do if you were to monopolise all of my time, after all this party is in my honour, and I think it only fair that I should…mingle.”

“Of course, Professor,” the verger said. “I believe your father is here…somewhere. Perhaps you would like me to find him?”

Nathanial forced himself to smile. A reunion with his father. How splendid! “If you would be so kind, I shall be…” He waved his cast randomly. “Somewhere in that direction.”

With that he turned and walked away, getting as much distance as he could from his sister, and her husband. People nodded and smiled at him as he walked, some of the men patting him on the back with a “welcome home”. Some of the faces he even recognised! He did not get far, however, before a deep voice, one he knew very well, bellowed out his name. Nathanial stopped, feeling the mud of the common squelch under his feet, and turned, his face grim.

“Dorian, how wonderful to see you,” he said, in a tone that made it clear it was anything but.

“Oh come now, Lucky, let us not pretend,” Dorian Stone retorted, smiling devilishly at his younger brother. Dorian took after their father, being a good foot shorter than Nathanial, his features deeper and more severe. Even now, at only thirty-three years of age, his hairline was receding. Nathanial could, at least, take some private pleasure in that. Dorian turned to the woman on his arm. “Do you see the way he cringes when I speak to him?”

The woman gave Dorian a look that said everything Nathanial needed to know about her. She was not one to suffer fools, which, in turn, led Nathanial to wonder how she had managed to find the arm of his brother. “Do forgive my fiancé, Professor Stone, but I suspect an element of jealousy which is most unbecoming of a man of his standing.” She removed herself from Dorian’s arm and stepped forward, hand out politely. “And since he has so singularly failed to introduce us, allow me to introduce myself. I am Kathleen Ashe, of the Esher Ashes.”

Nathanial assumed this was supposed to mean something to him, but the names of rich families meant very little to him. Of course, he was too polite to say so, and simply took her hand in his and kissed it gently. “Delighted, Miss Ashe. But, please, if you are to become my sister-in-law, do call me Nathanial.”

Miss Ashe laughed giddily behind her handkerchief. “Oh, Professor, that simply would never do. My father would never forgive me. He is a great fan of your work, and asked me to inquire as to when you will be publishing a paper on the principles behind your aether propeller governor?”

“Your…father?”

“Why yes, Lord Ashe.”

For a moment Nathanial was stumped, then it came to him. Lord Montgomery Ashe, Earl of Granville, was a patron of the Royal Society, and one of the men who had funded Nathanial’s initial trip to Arizona. Not that he had been in need of funds, but the Royal Society believed in vesting an interest in Nathanial’s professional activities. “I haven’t seen him since I last dined at the Clevedon Club with Professor Thomson.”

“Some two years ago, I believe, although in your absence Doctor Thomson has himself become Lord Kelvin.”

Nathanial regarded Miss Ashe, certain she was reproaching him for his lack of attendance. It was most unusual for a woman to take an interest, any interest, in the goings-on of a gentleman’s club. Clearly Miss Kathleen Ashe thought nothing of speaking on behalf of her father. Nathanial smiled, instantly reminded of his mother and how she often spoke on behalf of not only her husband, but indeed her own family, regardless of the fact that most of her children were no longer living in Fairfax House and were grown adults. He was quite drawn to Miss Ashe, and suddenly understood why she and Dorian had become engaged. “I feel it is a mistake I must soon rectify, now that I am back in Surrey it will be but a simple journey into London,” Nathanial said, with a light bow.

“My father will be most pleased to hear that… Nathanial,” Miss Ashe said, with tentative emphasis on his name. “Anyway, pray excuse me, for I believe your sister is most looking forward to seeing you. I believe I know where she is.” She looked up at Dorian pointedly. “It will give you gentlemen a chance to reacquaint yourselves.”

Nathanial watched her walk away carefully, minding not to slip on the increasingly boggy ground. Really, an outdoor celebration was not suited to winter on Putney Lower Common!

“Dear Kathleen believes I should make more of an effort with you, Lucky,” Dorian began, he, too, watching her retreating form, “but then she knows very little of our history. Except that which I have told her, of course.”

“Which I’m certain would have been a truly unbiased account.”

“Well, naturally,” Dorian said, turning to look at Nathanial, his pale eyes glinting with barely suppressed derision. “She knows full well that I, like Samuel, worked hard to attain my current position, whereas you were handed everything on a platter, not only by our parents but by everyone to whom you were ever introduced.”

Nathanial shook his head. “That is nonsense and you know it, Dorian!” he snapped. He glanced around, but if anybody noticed the verbal altercation between the brothers they chose to politely ignore it. Putney attracted a certain class of people, and was largely regarded as a well-to-do area, and propriety was high on their lists of socially accepted behaviour. Nathanial gathered himself together and reached down for his bag. “Well, it has been delightful to see you again, and I thank you for making the effort to see me, but…”

“Are you not going to ask after Samuel?” Dorian cut in.

Nathanial narrowed his eyes and, with a sigh, stood up straight once more, his bag remaining on the sodden grass. “Can I not ask him myself? I’m certain he, too, cannot wait to tell me about how hard he has worked to get where he is.”

“I’m sure, but, alas, he is even now in Portobello Road drumming up business. Not everyone can expect things to fall on their laps. Earning his keep, and ensuring his family is well fed, is of far more import to him than a spendthrift celebration in honour of the great Professor Stone.”

For a moment the air between them seemed colder than usual, but Nathanial refused to bite. He was tired, and wanted to quickly repair to his lab on Charlwood Road, away from all this nonsense. He had little to celebrate.

“I suspect you continued to receive great acclaim on your travels, parading your new invention for all to see? Kathleen does keep on about it so, the amazing aether propeller governor used on Sovereign, the pride of Her Majesty’s Navy.”

“You have no idea what I have been through, Dorian, none at all!”

Nathanial spoke with such force than Dorian took a step back in surprise. Even those nearby looked over, intrigued despite themselves. After a few moments of silence, all heads returned to their previous conversations, and Dorian regarded Nathanial’s damaged arm.

“A bit of humility it would seem,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face.

Perhaps Dorian was right. Nathanial remembered the crowds of onlookers that gathered at the Dover Embarkation Platform shortly before he had first boarded Sovereign, and how he had promised himself that he would never forget that he had come from the same place as most of them. Only that had not happened. He had, over the months that followed, become quite enamoured with the life he had fallen into, travelling the planets with Annabelle. Despite the dangers and the risks involved, he had come to enjoy his ever growing reputation. But then he had been arrested on Mars, and despite his actions on Luna he had immediately been thrown into prison for treason…

He shook his head. No, he would not dwell on the past week. Not now. Not in front of Dorian.

“How is business at Talbot Accountants?” he asked, forcing himself to be congenial. Anything to keep the nightmare of the previous week at bay.

Dorian raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and for a moment it looked as if he had become their father. “I am on the verge of becoming a partner; it is all dependent on how I handle our latest client. The Honourable Sébastien Fontaine, ex-French ambassador and the infamous philanthropist who is now on a self-imposed exile from the French Commune. A rather eccentric individual, who asked for me by name, would you believe? Clearly my reputation precedes me,” he finished with a smug smile.

Nathanial knew all about how one’s reputation could precede a person. He had become a victim of his own reputation, even now in Putney, regardless of how warranted such a reputation was. “Congratulations, I’m certain you will succeed.” He offered his brother his hand, which Dorian regarded like it was a poisoned chalice. “Please, Dorian, as I said, you have no idea what I have been through, but just accept my congratulations. Despite what you may think of me, I am glad to hear that you are proving successful in your career. You are, after all, my eldest brother.”

At this Dorian laughed. “Quite so, despite what Samuel may protest to the contrary, I was born minutes before him so that makes me the elder sibling.”

“Not counting Emily, of course,” Nathanial said, suddenly laughing, too. It felt good to laugh—something that had been in short order of late.

“She is a woman, Lucky, she never counts.” Dorian accepted Nathanial’s left hand and shook it. “Although,” he continued, the mirth now evaporating, “she has done rather well for herself. The wife of a colonel in the Royal Horse Artillery is nothing to laugh at.”

“Indeed not.”

“And here she is,” Dorian said, looking over Nathanial’s shoulder, an impressive feat itself considering Dorian only just reached Nathanial’s shoulder.

Nathanial closed his eyes. This was an encounter he was looking forward to even less than the one he had just survived.

“Professor Stone, an honour, sir,” Colonel Sanford said, shaking Nathanial’s hand firmly.

“Indeed,” Nathanial responded, barely looking the colonel in the eyes. He allowed himself to be distracted by Miss Ashe sharing a parting kiss on the cheek with his sister, before Dorian led his fiancé away. Nathanial was surprised that Dorian did not stay the course, happy to watch his younger brother squirm under the steely gaze of Colonel Sanford. Instead, showing an unusual amount of decorum, he excused himself almost as soon as Emily and her husband arrived.

Nathanial had to wonder why Colonel Sanford’s presence put him off his stroke. He had been around many military officers since Peregrine, and even went so far as to consider Jacob Folkard, Sovereign’s captain, a friend. Of course, much had changed since leaving Mars, despite his best efforts on Luna. He remained uncertain as to how and why he had been released from prison, but that he still carried the mark of a traitor to the Crown was something he felt keenly. His brother-in-law was a colonel in the Royal Horse Artillery, who was to know what information he had at his fingertips?

Nathanial braced himself and glanced a look at Sanford, who was now smiling at his wife, explaining the particulars of their first meeting in the summer of 1888. Was the colonel merely putting on a show for his wife, showing his open acceptance of her brother despite the truth he knew? Nathanial could not say, but he knew he wanted this introduction to be as swift as possible.

“Is he not a cad, Nathanial?” Emily asked.

“Yes, he is indeed,” Nathanial responded, although he had missed what Sanford had actually said. “I feel you shall fit in with my family perfectly, Colonel Sanford.”

“Please, call me Daniel, after all we are brothers now, what!”

Had Nathanial been away from Earth so long that the formality of relations in the British Empire waned so much? Between Miss Ashe and Colonel Sanford, Nathanial felt like he had returned to a world as different from the one he remembered as Mercury was from Mars.

“Yes, Lucky, Daniel is quite right. Such formality should be saved for the parade grounds.” As if to prove her point, Emily kissed her husband on his cheek, without a hint of regard for those around them. Good Lord, his sister was turning into a suffragette!”

“I see your arm is injured,” Colonel Sanford observed. “Something to do with that fracas on Luna, I suppose.”

Nathanial almost closed his eyes in dismay but maintained a noncommittal expression. “It is nothing really. A trifle.”

“Nevertheless he carries it in a sling,” Emily observed archly. “Lucky always had a flair for the melodramatic. How do you find Miss Ashe, by the way? She strikes me as the kind of woman you need.”

Nathanial eyed his sister, wondering if she were mad, pushing him toward his brother’s fiancé, or just picking a fight. First the comment about his arm, then this. He had lost count the amount of times when, as teenagers, she would badger him for not dallying with the local doxies. As if a young woman should be invested in such pursuits herself! Emily would argue she was being progressive, but as a man of some learning, Nathanial did wonder if perhaps she aspired to become one of the many harlots that scurried around the backstreets of London. All things considered, a suffragette was a better option, he supposed. Colonel Sanford was beaming at Nathanial, clearly enjoying his wife’s forwardness. Why was it that Nathanial seemed to always be surrounded by such women as these?

“I’m sure Annabelle would agree with you, Emily.”

“Oh, and who is Annabelle?” Nathanial did not care for his sister’s solicitous tone. “Are we to have another woman in the Stone family soon? God knows, I could do with another sister-in-law. Being raised with four brothers was so very trying.”

“And yet you acquitted yourself quite admirably, my dear,” Sanford said, still beaming.

“You have met my mother, Daniel, as you know I had the best teacher.” Emily turned once again to Nathanial, her smile now as sly as Dorian’s had been. “So, tell me of Miss Annabelle.”

Nathanial looked away, his hand finding its way into the pocket of his waistcoat, and the watch within. He ran his fingers along the contours of its casing. “She is a friend, little more,” he said softly. “Her heart belongs to another, I believe.”

“Then I am sad to hear that, Lucky. Perhaps you have found another suitable contender on your travels?”

Nathanial blinked away the memory of… He sniffed. “If I do, I will be certain to let you know first and foremost, Emily,” he said acidly. “Then you and Dorian can plan the best way to denigrate me before them. Tell your stories of ‘Lucky’ and why you all resent me so.” The look on his sister’s face was all the satisfaction he needed. Nathanial nodded at Colonel Sanford. “A pleasure, now if you’ll excuse me, I think there are others who require my attention.”

Closing his ears to the indignant responses, Nathanial picked up his bag and walked away. It really was time he returned to his laboratory. All this socialising and visiting memory lane was far too much for him. He had had such a horrendous week that it was time to find himself a bottle of cognac and retire. Perhaps permanently.

He should have known that such a recourse was not to prove easy, a fact bolstered by the return of Mister Payn and, a couple of steps behind him, the impressive bulk of the Honourable and Reverend Ronald Stone.

The two years had not been good on his father. Perhaps it was the cold and the way he was dressed up against it, or maybe the way he used his walking stick to support his weight, but every one of his sixty-four years were showing. Still the Reverend, as Nathanial could not but help think of him, maintained his bulk, but the skin of his face seemed to be thinning out, his once black hair now greying and thin as it protruded from his hat. The man seemed so much smaller now, hunched as he was. It did not take a genius to work out that the Reverend was ill.

“Nathanial!” he said, the strength of his voice as Nathanial remembered it “The prodigal returneth!”

“Father, I am hardly that. I did not run away, I was called away. On business.”

“Be that as it may, you have at the last returned. Your mother will be most pleased to see you.”

Mister Payn looked awkwardly between son and father. Reverend Stone noticed, and waved his verger away. “If you would be so kind as to inform Mister Dancey that my son and I shall be along shortly.”

“Of course, Reverend,” Payn said, and set off in the direction of the bandstand.

Alone, Nathanial and his father said nothing; they merely regarded each other with caution. There were many conversations—some might even have called them arguments—left unfinished, and Nathanial wondered which would be the first to be revisited. “Your mother will join us here shortly. She is currently engaged in her Christian duty at the Royal Hospital of Incurables, helping the unfortunates there to read.”

“Then I look forward to seeing her.”

“Quite.” A pause, one Nathanial did not like. He could see the gears of thought working behind the Reverend’s eyes. “Did you finally get to Mars?”

Such a question was not expected. “Why, yes I did. Although I hardly see why you would…”

“It disturbs me, that these godless people call us red devils. Did you know that one such Martian had been living here for a few years? Enjoying an Oxford education, no less! One of my parishioners showed me a photograph of him from one of the city papers. Those eyebrows—those ears! And they have the audacity to call us devils?”

Nathanial shook his head, the tiredness creeping on again. He had spent a whole month on Mars, and now felt he knew at least something of the people of that world. It was hardly a shock to hear his father offer up such a strong opinion about people he knew nothing of save a few rumours and one photograph. A man of the cloth his father might have been, but, nonetheless, he was also a man of strong, and often uninformed, opinions. A character flaw Nathanial had once shared with the Reverend, until he had left Putney. “This is not the time for such a conversation. I have only been in Putney for an hour, and already I have been accosted by…” He sighed. “It matters not. I am tired, and I need rest. This…” He waved his good arm around. “This is all too much!”

“Your mother planned this, Nathanial. She has been planning this since your brother received your telegram from Venus.” Despite his response, it was clear from the look in Reverend Stone’s grey eyes that he agreed with Nathanial.

“It is called a heliogram, Father, and I left Venus over five months ago.”

“Quite, so you see, she needs this. Half a year we have heard nothing of you, all we knew is that you were out there, in the heavens. A place man has no right to be! Your mother had been worried. At least your brothers and sister have the sense to remain on Earth, safe.”

“Safe?” Nathanial was beside himself. “How can you call Earth safe? I would wager that I was safer on my travels than I am on this world! I have seen the queerest things, Father; ghosts, lizard-men, giant ants that can speak! I spent a month travelling the plains and canals of Mars with an old Martian prince who cared more for Annabelle and me than he did for himself. I have even met intelligences that live within the hearts of planets, but nothing, nothing amazes me as much as the cruelty one man can show another! Certainly, I have experienced little that compares to the brutality and disregard for another man’s wellbeing than I have since I’ve returned to Earth. I travelled the aether for nigh on eight months, and where did I see the most destruction? On a heliograph station created by man. Death on such a scale…so many good people killed by a mad man…”

Nathanial stopped, aware that his face was red, the warmth of the blood almost stinging against the cold air. His father was looking at him; not quite sure if he ought to believe the words his son spoke. Nathanial wanted nothing more than for his father to reach out and embrace him, but he knew that would never happen. Any such display of affection ceased when Nathanial became a man. Reverend Stone showed more concern for his Church that he did for his children. It was something they had all got used to over the years.

“Have you not even wondered why my arm is in a sling?” Nathanial said, horrified by the painful need in his voice.

Reverend Stone simply raised an eyebrow. “I assumed some kind of accident. You were ever clumsy, Nathanial.”

“Clumsy? I am not that child you remember, Father,” he began, but stopped himself. He sounded like a petulant child, not a well-travelled and respected professor. Of course, he was not really a professor at all, despite being called so by some in the Navy, and he was not so well-respected as he had once been. Perhaps there was more of the petulant child in him than he cared to admit. “I…” He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. “Good day, Father,” he said instead, his words barely a breath of air. “Give Mother my love, and tell her if she wishes to see me I will be at my lab. Otherwise, I have no wish to be disturbed by anyone!”

So saying, Nathanial walked away, a burning fire of hurt in his belly.

2.

HE HAD EXPECTED to return to a dusty lab, but instead, as he walked through the door of his lab housed in a small building on Charlwood Road, he found it to be in pristine condition. The wooden benches were polished, the instruments, including his beloved Crookes Maltese cross tube, were sparkling and, he reflected sadly, hopelessly out of date. He dumped his bag on the floor and walked over to the large sink. Several beakers sat beside the sink, and he selected one, blew into it to remove any residual dust, and pulled out a stool.

Once he had removed his long coat and poured himself a generous measure of the cognac he had procured from the landlord at The White Lion, Nathanial raised a toast to his missing friends. To two years of journeying, of meeting the most amazing people…of the worst kind of loss.

He was still sitting there, the cognac untouched, when the door of his lab opened gently. Nathanial frowned and turned his head slightly. For the first time in hours his heart felt light.

The figure at the door, looking at him with unbelieving eyes, looked a good deal younger than his twenty-one years. But there was no mistaking the intelligence in the grey eyes, or the strength in the tall body. Whereas Nathanial always looked taller than he was due to his slim build, the young man at the door looked shorter because of his more muscular body. The multiple layers of clothes only served to add to the illusion.

“Nathe,” he said, bounding across the lab in two strides, “it is so good to see you!”

Before Nathanial knew what was happening he was gathered up in the strong arms of his younger brother. Nathanial’s instinct was to pull away, to protest at the informality. After all, he was the older brother and he had to set an example. Such actions would not do! Instead, however, Nathanial embraced his brother in return, grateful for the warm welcome.

“It is most agreeable to see you, too, Edwin,” Nathanial said, once he had been released, and received a boyish grin in response. Nathanial regarded the lab. “I assume I have you to thank for the good condition of my laboratory?”

“Well, of course, you don’t think Dorian would entertain such a notion, do you?”

Nathanial could not help but laugh. “Well, no, I don’t suppose he would.” Glad for the laughter, he indicated the bottle of cognac. “Grab yourself a…well, a beaker.”

Edwin was clearly surprised by the offer—as close as they had been growing up, Nathanial had never encouraged any social interaction with his younger brother—but he didn’t wait for Nathanial to change his mind. As Edwin poured himself a measure, Nathanial reflected that maybe he should change that.

“Some things need fixing,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry?” Edwin bit back a choke on the heat of the cognac. “What was that?”

Nathanial shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Eddie,” he said softly, slipping the diminutive in unconsciously. Edwin noticed, and his brow furrowed in a way not to dissimilar to the way Nathanial creased his own brows when taken aback. Out of all his family, Edwin and he were probably the most alike. At least, they would have been had Nathanial been allowed a normal life.

For a long moment Edwin regarded Nathanial thoughtfully, chewing his bottom lip. “What has happened to you? You’re hiding away from people, drinking on your own…this is not like you, Nathanial.”

“Perhaps I am just tired. I have had a long journey.”

“Piffle!”

Now it was Nathanial’s turn to furrow his brow. “Really, Edwin, you sound like Dorian.”

“Ah,” Edwin said with a sage nod, “you think by insulting me I will simply leave so you can sulk away on your own? I may be the youngest sibling, and the only one still yet to leave Fairfax House, but I am not so green as all that. Spend as much time helping Mother at the Royal Hospital of Incurables as I have and you learn to see the truth behind things.”

Nathanial narrowed his eyes, and sipped his cognac. “Now I am reminded of a French geologist I know.” He lifted the beaker and regarded the brown liquid within. “Arnaud does so love his cognac,” he added softly.

“I assume this Arnaud is an esteemed French geologist? It will lessen the insult. That is, if it is an insult,” Edwin finished, with a sly smile.

“It was not. I am certain Arnaud would like to think he is so, but then I would rather suspect he thinks he’s quite an esteemed waiter, too.” Nathanial smiled at Edwin’s confused expression, and waved it away. “It matters not, Doctor Fontaine is a long, long way from Surrey. All I have is you.”

“And you think this a bad thing?”

For a moment Nathanial did not answer, then he shook his head. “Of course not, Edwin. You’ve always been a rock for me; the only one who did not resent my position in this family. I am sorry I have not been in contact since arriving on Mercury.”

Edwin cleared his throat and forced a smile. It did not fool Nathanial. The hurt in his brother’s eyes was clear. “I was looking forward to hearing more of your adventures in the aether. When I received your telegram, that you were not returning from Venus but going on to Mercury, I grew quite envious I admit. And excited!” The forced smile was replaced by a sincere one at this. “Did you meet the creatures living on the dark side? I read about them in a recent scientific journal. Body chemistry based on ammonia! What a wheeze!”

Nathanial wondered at the tone in his brother’s voice. It was close to awe, a reverence that his journeys did not deserve. “I did not venture to the dark side of Mercury, I fear, rather I spent my time mostly at Princess Christiana Station, and in the caves beneath.” Edwin’s eyes grew wide at this, and Nathanial found himself unable to hold back on his telling. “But the things I saw there, Edwin! Arnaud and I discovered rock that was able to retain light, and then release it! Fontainite we called it. Only we later discovered it was so much more…”

Nathanial wasn’t certain how long they sat there, he talking about the things he saw on Mercury and Edwin listening with rapt attention, but they successfully emptied the contents of the cognac bottle between them in that time. He washed back the final drop, feeling quite light-headed all of a sudden.

“That is amazing! Do you suppose you will return there? I mean, your friend is still there, and he will no doubt expect you to return sometime.” Edwin grinned, his eyes glazing over. “I could come with you!”

“You?” Nathanial stood abruptly and staggered backwards. “That is out of the question, Edwin! I cannot take responsibility for you. I was responsible for Annabelle and look how that turned out! No,” he said, shaking his head profusely, which only served to add to his dizziness, “I cannot do that. You have no idea of what’s out there, Edwin, no idea! You just see the excitement, the wonder…not the truth. The danger! So many people have died because of me and I cannot…”

He stopped suddenly, shaken by the look of horror on Edwin’s face.

“Nathanial, what…”

“I am tainted, Edwin,” he said, the words pouring out of his mouth despite his best efforts to contain them. “You shouldn’t be here now, with me. I’m like the albatross. Good luck turned on its head! Lucky! They have no idea. What an apposite epithet! Not without reason was I born on the first of April.” Gathering himself together as best he could, Nathanial walked over to the bench and retrieved the empty bottle and beakers. “You should go, Edwin,” he said, turning his back on his brother.

He waited for the sound of the closing door to follow the scraping of Edwin’s stool on the tiled floor, but it never came. Once he’d finished washing the beakers he looked back. Edwin stood there, still by the bench, watching his older brother.

“I am not going until you explain yourself, Nathanial. I may be the youngest, but I am still your brother.” Edwin took a step towards Nathanial. “What has happened? Your adventures on Venus, on Mercury, even on Luna, sound so amazing. But what went wrong?”

Nathanial had not wanted to explain. He had simply wanted to return home, to escape the last few months. What he had experienced from the moment he had been forced to board Peregrine Station, everything that had happened to him since then, all the deaths, all the pain, the disasters…befriending John Pilling in prison… He wanted to be free of it. But there was something in Edwin’s eyes, something that reached deep down inside Nathanial.

“I killed them all, Edwin,” he said, unable to hold back any more. “Good men, friends… I killed them all.”

3.

IT WAS SOME time later that Edwin left, although he made Nathanial promise to return to Fairfax House before the night’s end. Alone once more, Nathanial sat on the stool, a piece of paper before him.

For a short while he stared at the blank whiteness, a state he wished his mind could mirror, but every time he closed his eyes he saw their faces. In the silence, the shadows from the flickering candles bouncing around him, he imagined he could hear the callous words of the inmates of Chatham Convict Prison still.

He glanced at the pocket watch beside the paper…

He gasped for breath as another boot crashed into his ribs. The pain did not matter; they could not take it from him. He scrambled in the dirt, his right hand reaching out for the pocket watch that lay, forever broken, the only thing he had left that gave him any hope. How many weeks, months even, would he have to endure this place?

His hand gripped the watch, and he yelled out as another boot crashed down on his wrist. Fire surged through his nervous system as bones cracked beneath the impact, but he refused to release his grip on the watch. He never would!

Even now he could feel the pain in his wrist, but that did not matter. The watch was safe, although Nathanial had no idea where the owner of the watch was now. No one would tell him, not the governor at the prison, not even Director White at the dockyard, but he was certain that somehow he would return the watch to her.

The last image he had of her was one of confusion, as Lieutenant George Bedford held her in his arms, protecting her from any danger that might come her way in the wake of the events that surrounded Nathanial’s return to British soil. As he was forcefully led away, she had reached out and grasped his hand, placing the watch in his palm. The only link she had to her parents. The importance of such an item could not be exaggerated, and the message contained in the act was simple. They would meet up again.

He dipped the pen in the ink and began writing.

My dearest Annabelle. I am so very sorry…